


Vinaigrette Vignettes

by Haelblazer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Bela Talbot, Alpha Castiel, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Crack and Angst, Dean in Denial, Enemas, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Object Insertion, Omega Dean Winchester, POV Dean Winchester, Prostitute Dean, Scent Kink, Vegetables
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haelblazer/pseuds/Haelblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrelated Dean/Cas ficlets...and vegetables.<br/>1. Prostitution AU teaser. Today, Cas gives Dean a pearl onion necklace.<br/>2-3. A/B/O Dynamics. Dean didn’t spend his heats craving a knot. He craved cucumber. When he first scents Cas, it all comes together.<br/>4-5. Dean and a beet juice enema (and Cas).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peeled White Pearls

Dean is kneeling on polished white tile, glad to still have his jeans on because it’s freezing in here. Wherever “ _here_ ” is. He’d learned after their first two meetings that Cas wasn’t the type to share information. Truth be told, the only reason he knew the john’s name was because he’d grabbed a peek at his license as soon as he’d had a chance.

Dean always tried to have a look at their IDs.

His slight-of-hand was still good enough for that at least, even if he’d had to turn to whoring for now. It was risky—unsafe—and he figured that if any of these guys ever hurt him or fucked him over, then he’d know who he was going after, just as long as they left him alive.

Dean’s thoughts are dramatically out of place in this moment, but it’s for the best as far as he’s concerned. He’d prefer to feel bitter that he’s sunken this low in the first place, but he’ll take what he can get. He has to keep his head out of the moment because if he thinks about it for more than five seconds straight he’ll fold over on himself laughing.

Dean figures this has to be some kind of a test, there’s no way anyone could get off on this.

Another pearl onion lands on Dean’s collarbone. It rolls and knocks into the only one that’s still sitting on that side. Dean can feel his chest shaking as he tries to hold back laughter. He knows he’s jostling the onions, he knows they’re seconds from rolling down his chest like every other one that Cas has tossed at him today, but he can’t hold himself still any longer. It’s hard enough to keep a straight face with a grown man standing in front of him throwing pearl onions at his neck. It’s even harder when rule number one is that he’s supposed to maintain eye contact.

It should be easy money, right? Dude’s good looking enough that he probably wouldn’t need to pay for it if he didn’t want something so frickin weird. Yeah, something about him is obviously a bit off, hell the eye contact thing might be the weirdest part of all of it, but some people are into that intense thing. The jaw clench like he’s holding something back, the eyes not-quite-squinting but most definitely glaring—like he’s idly considering the benefits of fucking someone through a wall.

Apparently the idea of fucking Dean through a wall just isn’t as appealing to Cas as the idea of giving him a pearl onion necklace.


	2. Butternut Squash Your Feelings, Rim a Persimmon, and Cucumcumcumbering

The secondary gender thing isn’t even secondary in his mind most of the time. It comes in at more like 36th. The population is so beta-heavy that alphas and omegas would be nothing but myths and rumors to Dean if he hadn’t presented as one twenty years ago; and damn if that didn’t put things in perspective. _Twenty years_. He’d had two decades with this and he was still being a coward about it, sneaking around every two months like a man on the prowl, hunting for dick-shaped vegetables.

Hunting for cucumbers.

Lately it was always cucumbers. Once he’d started in on them he’d never wanted anything else. In the beginning, when he was just embarrassed and wanting, he’d started with a butternut squash. There hadn’t been any question in his mind when he did a quick scan of the vegetable aisle, basically looking for the most phallic thing that he could find. As soon as he saw it, he knew. The butternut squash looked perfect.

It was almost as thick as his wrist, but it tapered down a bit toward the top. Something about the visual of it struck him just right, and maybe it was his heat-addled desperate state, but looking it over made him feel an odd mix of confidence that he could handle the least of it, followed by a thrill at the possibility offered at the largest end. He hefted it in his hand and appreciated the weight of it. The freshness. Actually not quite ripe yet. Firm. It was mostly smooth, but with the slightest indentations running from root to base to separate it in segments. Before he could silence his own mind, he’d noted that he liked the idea of those subtle ridges—the idea that they could feel like something real. If he warmed it up first… That was when he’d caught himself and fully realized what he was doing. He wasn’t just being a last-ditch-options desperate-measures vegetable-fucker. He was eyeing it up and thinking up possibilities like a full-on full-time vegetable-fucker perv. He felt ashamed and he tossed the squash in the basket, mindlessly scuttling over to the next isle and grabbing a box of Fruit Loops and Pop Tarts like someone buying random magazines to hide their porn.

How far he’d come.

It was funny remembering that butternut squash, looking back on it like his first girlfriend, or maybe just the first girl who he made out with in the back of the Impala. Like something out of a past life… Dean shook his head, it wasn’t the kind of funny that a lot of people would get. Just another secret to keep to himself. Who even knew that he was an omega? His family, because that was inescapable. Bobby because he’d had the bad luck of playing host to them the week that Dean presented. Missouri and Ellen because they’d both had turns watching over him when his mom couldn’t. It took maybe eight years before Dean learned enough to realize that they were all running on misconceptions when it came to these precautions that they were taking during his heats. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, just lack of info really. He’d tried to explain it to Sam by saying it was like trying to treat someone who had a rare old disease, but that whole conversation took a detour as soon as Dean tried to use that analogy. He probably should’ve known that his brother would be upset about Dean referring to one of his genders as a disease, but it was just the best way that Dean could think of to explain it. He’d told Sam that he was overreacting and it turned into a whole fight about Dean being a self-hating bigot and Sam being a naïve kid who didn’t understand.

They were 22 and 18 when they had that fight and they didn’t speak about it again for almost four years. Dean was 30 years old when he could finally admit to himself that Sam had been right about one thing at least. Dean at 22 had been full of self-hate. It wasn’t the easiest thing ever to reconcile his interest in hot chicks with his bimonthly interest in hard veggies.

Heh. Bimonthly.

How many cucumbers had he gone through over the years? Six months a year, twenty years, take away those first years of doing without and a few months of carrot and corn experimentation. And that weird try with the endive. And dear god the bottle gourd. Still the cucumbers had to be in the dozens. Looking at them now and looking back at the squash where he’d started, he still didn’t really understand his own preference.

In theory, the butternut squash should have been perfect.

It was big and thick and it even had a bulb thing at the end. Every message board comment, every ancient piece of lore, if they all agreed on anything it was that omegas craved knotting when they were in heat. Dean never saw the appeal of it. He started seeking out anything he could find about lesbian omegas, thinking that maybe there could be some information there that everyone else was ignoring. It wouldn’t be the first time that people ignored the experiences of people who didn’t fit whatever narrative they were selling. Looking deeper, past the generalities and into the firsthand experience of any given omega, or looking at the few sources that had taken primary gender and sexualities into account, the symptoms of an omega heat weren’t as simple as getting hot and wet and wanting a knot. Heat could mean a craving for friction or penetration, plugging or knotting, a touch, a taste, a physical comfort. It was reassuring and it wasn’t until he felt that reassurance that Dean realized how upset he had been.

It’s not like he thought his life would be easier if he had an uncontrollable urge to be knotted. He actually grimaced at the thought, not seeing much appeal in the idea of being stretched almost beyond limit and locked onto some hulking alpha for an hour. But it had kind of sucked, all those years feeling like something was wrong with him, feeling…broken.

Looking back on that, having those twenty years behind him didn’t seem like such a bad thing. He wasn’t exactly going around bragging about what he did with vegetables in his spare time, but he was okay with himself now. To a certain extent…

Breathing in the scent of fresh cucumbers, Dean still frowned down at the crate as he stood in the produce aisle. How many times had he been in pretty much this same position? Farmers markets and produce sections, month after month, in town after town. If he was so okay with himself, then why did something in him refuse to just man up and buy a real toy? He’d been shoving vegetables up his ass for two decades now and still had something holding him back from making a permanent purchase. For the longest time, he’d told himself that buying a thing like that was just asking for it to be found by someone. His family lived on top of each other way too much to worry about hiding something everywhere they went, moving it with them from place to place whether his heat was on or not. They could say they were understanding about his heats, but it’s one thing to read some articles about it and bring him some Tylenol and a cuddle pillow, it’s another thing to face the solid reality of your kid or your brother jamming a sex toy up his ass. Sometimes a little voice whispered at him that he was making excuses, that buying a toy made it too real, and that he’d have to face himself for who he was everyday whether or not he was in heat. _You’re a little bitch with a sex toy, that’s who you are_. He did a lot of fighting with himself in his own head. Sometimes he thought that this vegetable thing, at least, it was just him handling a few temporary emergencies until he could figure out what to do about it.

Maybe he’d get around to that in another twenty years, if he made it that far. Then again, the heats probably wouldn’t last him that long, right? He didn’t have to go to some specialist doctor to know that he was probably long past his peak fertility by now.

Didn’t stop him from warming up, dripping slick, and craving a cucumber up his ass every other month. At least after the first time he’d realized that if he used plastic wrap or an un-lubed condom that he could still eat the cucumber afterward, so it didn’t feel like a waste of money.

Dean rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness, and then grabbed the cucumber that he’d honed in on as the best candidate. He went for an obscenely large one this time, just to prove something to himself. He wasn’t that self-hating kid anymore, he wasn’t lying to himself, he wasn’t avoiding something permanent. He really really liked fucking cucumbers. He liked the feel of the tight ridges inside him, more texture, more feeling than a butternut squash. He liked when they flared out at the top and then curved down just _slightly, slightly, slightly_ and he could wrap his whole hand around the end with the kind of grip that wasn’t going anywhere  no matter how fast, how hard his wrist and elbow were flicking back-forth-back.

The reality of life was that some things weren’t for other people to know, but he wasn’t going to be ashamed in his own head. He couldn’t be that person again. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. He just had to… _fuck that cucumber smelled good_. That was what did it for him, honestly, there was nothing like it. He didn’t even eat vegetables all that often, way less than he should be according to Sam, and most days of the year he probably couldn’t identify a fruit by smell if it wasn’t in a pie. Put him in a produce section during his heat though, and he could take inventory of the whole place while blindfolded. Then he’d probably be arrested for public indecency because you basically put him through slow, torturous foreplay and he’d want nothing more but to plow through the whole cucumber crate by the time he got through there.

The first time he met an alpha, he started to realize what was happening.

Her name was Bela, she was an alpha, and she smelled like sweet bell peppers. She told him he smelled like honey crisp apples. He tried to dance around the question that he wanted to ask, none of the books had mentioned it, no one on the boards had mentioned it, but it had to mean something, he had to know.

“You like apples?”

“I like them well enough.”

“Yeah, but, you know...is there an alpha version of heats?” Dean hadn’t read up as much on them as he could have, it seemed pointless. He wasn’t going to run out and find one and he never slept around during his heats so worrying about alphas never felt important. But she smelled like vegetables and he smelled like fruit…

“Dean, you can’t just ask a lady about her heats,” Bela only seemed mock-offended, so Dean didn’t think he’d really crossed a line, but he still apologized.

“Sorry, I wasn’t really thinking,” because he knew from experience it was something personal. He probably wouldn’t have taken it as well as she did if someone got nosey about him like that. It was just that this new information added a whole new angle for him to look at, a feature of himself that he’d never thought about. Six-foot-one, green eyes, smells like apples. (According to Sam, Dean gets a weird look on his face whenever he sees someone eating an apple now.)

Eventually Bela did tell him, when they were drunk on Old Milwaukee and gooseberry wine, after failing terribly in their first and final attempt to work a job together. She leaned over and whispered—or attempted to whisper, it was rather more like breathy shouting, “Have you ever rimmed a persimmon?”

“What?”

“ _Rimmed_ a _persimmon_ ,” Bela emphasized her ‘M’s, “I do that during some of my ruts, you know.” At Dean’s confused look, Bela clarified, “Alpha-heats.”

“How do you—?” Dean started to ask, but Bela continued on.

“I have this theory—I’ve met enough omegas and other alphas, because I’m actually a part of the scene, you know, because it’s important for us to find each other,” Dean twirled a finger around in faux celebration of her efforts-for-the-cause, too out of it to bristle up about her implied jab at him, but clearheaded enough to know it was there and to want her to know that he knew. “Well, we all have these scents about us, all of us. You omegas, you’re all some variation of fruits, as far as I can tell. There might be another thing mixed up in there—now that I know you better I can smell the leather and motor oil, but perhaps that’s just your lifestyle, I don’t know. Anyway, I haven’t found my persimmon…no one even smells close…”

“Anyone ever smell like cucumber?” Dean asked before he even realized he was going to ask. Bela looked over at him, and her expression might have still been unreadable even if he wasn’t blasted out of his mind.

“No. Sorry…it’s just a theory though, right?”


	3. Cas-cumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the smell of fresh Cas-cumber in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not question my very accurate cucumber science. They are special AU cucumbers with powerful staying properties. Shhh, just come.

Farmers markets were one of the more boring ways to spend a Saturday morning, at least when Dean wasn’t in heat. If he were in heat, there’s no way he’d have agreed to go anywhere near a place like this with Sam there to witness Dean enjoying it. There was no danger of anything like that happening with his heat about five weeks off. He was safely bored out of his mind and Sam was happily comparing organic pears.

Dean asked Sam to find some raspberries or strawberries or something for a pie, and then wandered off to see if anything caught his eye. There was no way he’d give his brother the satisfaction of looking like he was showing an interest in eating healthy. (Although it was a little bit embarrassing how accurate Sam had been when he accused Dean of only eating vegetables six times a year. That kid was always disturbingly perceptive about him.) Still, he did like to eat, so it was worth having a look around while Sam was too distracted to notice him doing anything too respectable.

It was a nice enough place to walk around when he wasn’t being asked to slog his way through every stand, looking over a stack of leafy greens like he was supposed to make sense of it. The things he knew about vegetables, no one needed him to give that kind of advice, and he probably couldn’t give it right now anyway. The cucumbers at one of these stands smelled awesome though, he needed to find out who was selling them so he could get some in five weeks when—

Dean’s body and his brain both seemed to hit the breaks—mid-step and mid-sentence.

He could smell cucumber. Fresh, strong, unquestionably identifiable. His senses were never this good outside of his heats. He couldn’t pick up on the smell of a single vegetable in the middle of a thirty-stall farmers market. Not even his favorite, not even…

He whipped around, looking at the stands around him. Artichokes, dates, and leeks. Big fluffy curls of kale. Cherries and what looked like cherry pies. There weren’t any cucumbers where he could see, it had to be—no, that wasn’t reality, that was just Bela’s guessing game. There’s wasn’t any real weight behind it, none of the boards, none of the books said anything about it. If the scents meant anything, then people would be talking about it. Doesn’t matter how rare they were these days, the omegas and alphas going through this would tell each other. _Maybe they were, maybe this is what they said in person, or on those special sites that he never joined._ Maybe it did mean—ugh, where was that smell coming from?! There wasn’t a single cucumber out in this section, nobody tall and green and calling out to him. How was he supposed to find this person? It was an alpha, it had to be an alpha, he knew it, without a doubt he knew it. Was he supposed to sniff along the air like a bloodhound until he smacked noses with someone who’d been following the scent of apples? Why wasn’t there anyone frantically looking around for the scent of his apples?

Okay, he was freaking out. He needed to calm down. He was acting like an omega stereotype out of one of those ‘50s psych books that he read. There was no need to freak out about this. Really, he should be making a beeline for those cherry pies like he would have if he wasn’t being…being…beeing…honeybees, that honey stand, that’s where it was. Cucumbers in the honeystand. Holy fuck, he was losing his mind.

Redhead behind the counter, she was cute, was this her? Was she his cucumber? My little red cucumber. There was no question about one thing: he had to look like a crazy person walking up to her stand. She was smiling like any merchant would smile at any customer, maybe she would’ve even added a little flirtatiousness to it if Dean weren’t looking at her so wide-eyed and confused.

It wasn’t her, not from her, she smelled like wild flower shampoo. Why did Dean know that?

She was asking him something, or telling him something. He couldn’t understand what she was saying, but he could smell the honey. They must use the same wildflowers. Her shampoo and the honey.  _Anna’s_ it said on the jar, and maybe she was Anna, but it mattered less when she only smelled like wildflower shampoo. A part of him hated that it mattered less, it shouldn’t matter less, but when he had the smell of crisp sliced cucumber flowing over him, he didn’t have time to smell the wildflowers. Maybe someone with a wildflower obsession would find their way here someday….or already had. There were even wildflowers and bees decorating the curtain at the back of the booth. In the back of his mind he thought that maybe they need to tone down the theme a bit, but it was an afterthought because most of his thoughts were focused on an outline behind the curtain. Movement behind the curtain. Someone else.

A hand-truck broke through ahead of the man pushing it with one hand, four jar-filled pallets balanced and unshaking, even as the man blew his nose into the wad of paper towels that he held in his other hand. Dean could vaguely hear the woman sounding grossed out and telling the man—Cas, she called him Cas—telling him not to blow his nose inside near the food.

“Sorry.”

Fuck. He was stuffy nosed and rumbly and hearing that first word out of him made Dean’s asshole clench. What was happening? Dean breathed out so heavily that Anna and Cas both turned to look at him curiously. For Cas, that look involved tilting his head and when he did so a trickle of snot dripped out. As he absentmindedly wiped it away, Dean was internally screaming at himself, asking why he thought that someone wiping a runny nose was suddenly cute? Not just cute, but hot. The man looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, hair up everywhere, trench coat thrown on over a t-shirt and sweats like he’d been dragged out of the house—which he probably had been, considering the runny nose.

His alpha was sick. _Whoa, where did that come from?_ He hadn’t even spoken to him yet. Cas didn’t even know what he was. He couldn’t smell anything omega, he couldn’t apples, he couldn’t smell _anything_. But if he wasn’t, he’d know why Dean was standing here. Hell, based on everything he’d heard, if Cas could smell Dean right now then he’d already be bent over those pallets of honey…if he loved the smell of apples the way Dean needed him to love the smell of apples. Maybe he’d be up for it even if he just liked the smell of Dean’s soap.

It was superficial, yeah, he knew that, wanting to climb up on a stranger because Dean liked the smell of him, but he’d climbed on people for flimsier reasons. Who knew how he’d smell if Dean couldn’t smell the alpha scent on him, but that didn’t matter because he _could_ smell it and it was the best of every fresh cut cucumber he’d ever smelled.

A two second maniacal chuckle broke free before Dean could cut it off. He hadn’t even realized that he was smiling, but of course he was. He’d found his cucumber. His cucumber with watery blue eyes and fucking adorable eye bags.

 _You’d better be single, you snot-nosed bastard_ , Dean thought to himself. He was going to ride him so hard that his body was going to think it got hit with a decongestant.


	4. Beet-It Juice (a/k/a Ride the Wave)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and a beet juice enema.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for a continuation of the A/B/O story, don't worry. The presence of this new canon-related plot doesn't mean that the AUs are finished. I'm just posting pieces kind of at random when it feels right.

Dean has done a lot of things while undercover. He's worn outfits that he's not proud of, he's been covered in fluids that he wouldn't even want to have in the same room as him. For the most part though, he's been able to avoid having things end up inside him. The vampire blood was a rare exception and enough to make him pretty damn sure that he wanted to avoid any case where things ended up inside him. Especially fluids. Rolling, flowing, getting everywhere fluids.

He knew, the minute that he and Sam set foot in that health spa, that something unpleasant was going to end up inside of him. Mostly, he’d been worried about their wheatgrass and lettuce juice or whatever they had people drinking in there. If you’d have asked him to list every possible thing at that spa that he might have to worry about, never once would it have crossed his mind to say “beet juice enema.”

The thing that pissed him off the most though, was that beet juice enemas were friggin amazing. He felt quick on his feet, like everything that had been weighing him down had been cleared out. He felt more awake than he had in years, more than that domestic break where he’d got a few nights of eight hours sleep. For two weeks afterward, he had women coming up to him, telling him his skin was glowing. Some of them just wanted tips (which there was no way he was telling them) but some were after a number (and that he was okay to tell).

Going back to the way things had been before, he felt like someone had strapped a weight belt around him. He was slower, tired, weighed down, and bitter because he knew what he needed to do to make himself feel better.

The first time he did the enema himself, he had something else to rank as the thing that most pissed him off. Because when he did it himself, he got some idea of why enema vids were offered up in those special porn sections that he’d always avoided.

The spa had been clinical about it, professional, efficient. It had been about as clean as a thing like that could be, from the administration to the aftermath. It wasn't anything like that when he did it himself and it was...interesting.

Okay, that was a lie, he thought it was awesome.

When he did it himself, beet juice ended up splashed over every surface in the bathroom. He'd somehow got it on top of the shower-head and there was a streak of red lining the inside of the medicine cabinet.

How?!

He had no idea, and considering that some of that red had come from the juice _after_ it came back out of his body, he felt like he should be disgusted. Any situation even close to this and he'd be cringing and grossed out and bitching up a storm. It was an alien thing to him, looking at this mess around him and just feeling...calm....happy...this tingle of...something.

He had a pretty good guess about why he had that tingle. It was probably the same reason he had that happy and calm. He was still riding high on that feeling. Liquid pouring into him, filling him full, pressing in everywhere that it could reach. It was a feeling like nothing he'd ever had before, not even the first time, because they were probably trained to work in a way that didn't leave people cumming all over their staff and equipment. He would have done it too, he did it in the bunker when the pressure hit that perfect level of just-right.

There was something about liquid, the way it pushed against him and made him conform to it, but it submitted to the shape of him, slipping into folds and flowing over curves. There was this balanced give and take, the liquid never taking more than he could give.

His pupils blew wider and he bit his lip when he thought about the juice inside him, staining him red.

**Author's Note:**

> The A/B/O story was supposed to come first but then I kept writing it and writing it and then Bela showed up and next thing you know I was over 2,000 words in and Cas wasn't even there yet and I figured that I should put the pearl onion thing first because that's pretty straightforward and to-the-point as fics go.


End file.
